Who Do You Think You Are?
by DespiteGatsby
Summary: You're gonna catch a cold from the ice inside your soul...


**Disclaimer: I do not own RE.**

**So I was listening to this song on the radio called "Jar of Hearts." It's a fantastic song and the lyrics blew me away when I listened to them. So I've decided to write a fic based on the origin of this song. A man who goes around and steals the love from those **_**he **_**loves and eventually, has also stolen their souls in the process. He tries again and again to get a woman to fall in love with him again just so he can have her heart like all of his other victims. She won't stand for his ternary and refuses to go back to what once was, and the ending results are for you to read on. Claire and Wesker. Character death for the win. WARNING: PRE RE1 ALTERNATE UNIVERSE! **

_**I know I can't take one more step towards you.  
Cause all that's waiting is regret.  
And don't you know I'm not your ghost anymore?  
You lost the love,  
I loved the most.**_

It wasn't in her right mind to fall for him. She wasn't a fool but she had a hard time relieving herself of that fact that she _was _a fool. As soon as she let his steel arms wrap around her waist, it was a whole new world. She was no longer the enemy but more of his accomplice. An accomplice with 'benefits' that could potentially serve him right; or perhaps, give him the chance to reap those dispensed 'benefits'. It was a box full of mind games and she was stuck right in the middle. The undeniable crave for her soul and her heart is what drove him to take her. It drove his protective, territorial, and sexual hormones that he would not let go unnoticed. The way her skin made his flesh burn and the way her lips made his heart melt. It was cliché yet at the same time, totally necessary.

He was trapping her, blindfolding her. Fooling her into thinking that everything was alright when in reality, it was just a game that he was willing to replay after the game was over.

And she was his absolute _favorite _game.

_**And I learned to live, half -alive.  
And now you want me one more time.**_

The pain that he inflicted was horrid.

The intoxication that he provoked was irrevocably irreversible. He was like an animal on the hunt, stalking his prey with the utmost care, as if it were something to be had with prominent patience… and then when the time was right, and he knew it, he would strike. Taking her down with severity, exceeding that of a wild beast; feasting on her thoughts, her soul, but most of all, her heart… the limits that she would break and the moral that she would hold onto but he would always take away.

She tried fighting. It never worked. She found it impossible to divest as much as a grunt of pain out of him. It irked her knowing that she could not inflict such damage.

And it gave him great pleasure knowing _he _could make a Redfield scream.

It was when he freed her did Claire Redfield know what it was like to be prisoner to a tyrant. He shuffled her along like she was never of any importance, because… maybe she wasn't. And it wasn't like she knew at all because she didn't. He was just using her and _that _is what she _did _know. He took her heart and turned it into a piece of scrap-metal, a piece of stone in which could never be re-polished. Dented from months of uncertainty, bullshit lies, and soul-stealing love.

_**And who do you think you are?  
Runnin' round leaving scars.  
Collecting your jar of hearts.  
And tearing love apart.  
You're gonna catch a cold,  
from the ice inside your soul.**_

_**So don't come back for me.  
Who do you think you are?**_

He would sit and contemplate.

He would try his best to conjure up lost memories of her. Her delicate face resting in his hands, the numerous dips and curves of her slender body. The way she felt, and the way she screamed his name.

Albert Wesker was not a man of love, or for that matter, affection of any kind. He had never shown it nor received it. It was like a foreign language to him, one that he hadn't already known and learned like second nature. He had never been so infatuated with a woman, again, or for that matter, anything. He was willing to play her again; after all, she was his favorite game. Would it destroy her to know the truth? He was sure she already knew but wasn't willing to face it just yet. The illusion that he created was tantalizing, he would lure her into him, wrapping his clawed fingers around her heart and then begin to pull. Pull harshly on the strands that held her to the real world, her only true connection to what was right and what was wrong. Other than her mind, but he had already closed the book on that.

He felt though, as if letting her free was like letting a wild animal run amiss.

A hungry…

Bloodthirsty…

Animal.

He wasn't afraid of revenge; in fact, he had grown quite fond of it, for he had utilized its purposes many times. He had been betrayed and had executed the betraying. He was a traitor yet, had been a target of a traitor. Always in the turn of a table, Wesker was willing to take sides and let those who's hands he held over the edge of a cliff… fall.

He let Claire fall.

_**I hear you're asking all around,  
if I am anywhere to be found.**_

_**But I have grown too strong,  
to ever fall back in your arms.**_

Once, someone had told Claire that the road to revenge was a long one and usually resulted in a dead end street. The road to Claire's revenge would be a successful trip and well worth it in the end. She would take back what belonged to her and by any means necessary, would take it back with force. Stalking down the carpeted hallways like a sleek creature of the night, collecting her rage and the adrenalin that fueled her.

The sudden black of night creeping in from all corners of the room and from all corners of her mind.

Revenge is what she sought.

Taking back what was rightfully hers.

Claire Redfield's heart.

_**And I learned to live, half-alive.  
And now you want me one more time.**_

I saw her there, standing in front of my den doorway, dripping wet from the rain outside. She looked primitive and feral. '_Kill_' written all over her face…

I wanted a part of that rage.

I wanted to feel the beastly hatred she was feeling, and I wanted it to be spilled all over me through her screams and her blood. I wanted nothing more than to take Claire Redfield and make her scream my name as she cut my torso with the knife she held so precariously from her hand.

And I was going to make it happen.

_**Who do you think you are?  
Runnin round leaving scars.  
Collecting your jar of hearts.  
And tearing love apart.  
You're gonna catch a cold,  
from the ice inside your soul.  
So don't come back for me.  
Who do you think you are? **_

I wanted to watch him bleed out all over that black carpet, mixing with the plush fabric, and soaking up his life line. I wanted the images of myself ripping out his throat to become a reality. Rage is what fueled me but love is what held me back. I thought, at one point that I did. He was kind yet, in a way, ruthless. It was sexy, intimidating, and domineering all at once. He forced his impression on me, his mind-blowing excellence, and his renegade attitude that could only be accomplished by someone of his stature.

But I wanted Albert Wesker dead.

Begging for the mercy I could only hope would come.

But succumbing to the fact that he would never.

_**Dear, it took so long just to feel alright.  
Remember how to put back the light in my eyes?  
I wish I had missed the first time that we kissed.  
Cause you broke all your promises…**_

And now you're back.  
You don't get to get me back.

Who do you think you are?  
Runnin' round leaving scars.  
Collecting your jar of hearts.  
And tearing love apart.  
You're gonna catch a cold,  
from the ice inside your soul.  
So don't come back for me.  
Don't come back at all.

He spread out his arms like a demonic dragon, wanting me to fall back into them, wanting me to come back to the shadow-like world he inhabited all alone. Stalking towards me like the wolf I knew he was, and spreading that sadistic smirk across his handsome face, those eyes flashing an icy blue.

"You've come back," he said calmly.

"For your head," I replied.

I don't think he took me seriously. The fact was I was _completely_ serious. I would stab my knife into his wretched heart if that was what it would take to get back mine. I played with him, he knew I was.

I walked slowly into his arms, never breaking eye-contact with his hellish blues. He snared himself around my waist, resting his head on my shoulder, breathing in my not-so-sweet-scent.

"I told you, Dearheart," he said while stroking my hair. "You and I are inseparable."

_**And who do you think you are?  
Runnin round leaving scars.  
Collecting your jar of hearts.  
And tearing love apart.  
You're gonna catch a cold,  
from the ice inside your soul.  
Don't come back for me.  
Don't come back at all.**_

I felt it.

The ice cold touches of metal through skin. The life that was starting to fade.

She had come back for what she desired.

Revenge.

And her heart.

I had taken it away without her compliance and without her futile attempts to hold on a bit longer. The thought of death crept into my head like an annoying sharp stick, and I felt the knife bury itself deeper into my stomach, gaining a grunt that almost sounded satisfied. It twisted about like a wrench on bolts, severing my skin and trimming away the flesh that resided there. The warm trickle of blood trailing down my body and onto the floor below, the sweet smell of blood tantalizing my nostrils making my mouth water.

I never broke eye-contact with Claire Redfield.

My vision fading to a pasty gray and noises of the city and the rain drowning out like cotton stuffed in my ears. Dulling and diminishing the more and more I teetered on the edge of life and death.

_**Who do you think you are?**_

His weight leaned into me as the last breath escaped his lousy lungs. I pushed him back and he collapsed like a ton of bricks. Lying on his back, eyes shut, mouth slightly parted. The knife protruding from his stomach, crimson blood seeping around the wound and trickling from the corner of his mouth.

I had gotten back what was rightfully mine. What I had owned until Albert Wesker collected it for himself.

What I now owned again as I glanced over my shoulder at the dead beast whom had stolen it from me in the first place.

_**Who do you think you are?**_

**A/N: So? What did you think? Pretty graphic huh? I'm so messed up in that vicinity of my brain. I love this stuff and it's what I'm really good at writing! So drop me a review, I would really love one! By the way, this is A/U so things are not initially normal or how they would be PRE RE1. Clearly Wesker and Claire had some complicated "relationship" and Wesker, yet again, proved to be an evil jackass who can't control himself. BUT! That's why we love him!** __


End file.
